Emc2
by Talya Firedancer
Summary: Shuuichi deals with the fallout of his argument with Yuki, and Yuki entertains a change of direction. Sequel to Wingardium Leviosa.


E=mc^2 "Track 16" by Talya Firedancer  
  
"You're not still mad about what I said, are you? I...I didn't mean what I  
said, about the level of your writing." Shuuichi took a stab at the  
problem. He'd felt terrible all day, then he came home to this...there had  
to be three packs' worth of cigarettes in Yuki's table ashtray and he knew  
his lover cleaned the thing out every day.  
  
"No," Yuki replied, still staring at his laptop. "You're right. The level  
of my writing...it's useless. It's trash."  
  
"Yuki!" Shuuichi exclaimed, pushing his way fully into the study. Now he  
was alarmed. Yuki never talked about his own writing like that. Yuki only  
talked about Shuuichi's lyrics like that...and lately Harry Potter books.  
  
Actually, Yuki never talked about his own writing unless he was on T.V.  
  
Yuki lifted his head and fixed him with a piercing look. "Be quiet. I've  
made my decision...I'm giving it up."  
  
"Give...give up?" Shuuichi clung to the doorframe. A Yuki who wasn't  
writing was inconceivable.  
  
The tall blond stood, closing his laptop with a small but very  
decisive-sounding click.  
  
"Wait! No, you can't!" Shuuichi said wildly, clutching handfuls of his  
cotton candy-pink hair. "I didn't...but you...I mean...you said...but  
  
then...you can't!" He summed his incoherent point up in a haywire burst of  
logic that made perfect sense. To himself.  
  
The sudden look Yuki gave him was utterly chilling. "You can't tell me  
what to do," Yuki said coolly. He reached his arm out and shouldered  
Shuuichi aside, dragging the door shut.  
  
Shuuichi bounced onto his knees and skittered across the hallway floor  
like a hockey puck. "Yuki..." he said plaintively, then took a deep  
breath, refreshing himself for another round.  
  
"Just shut up, will you?" Yuki shot at him, moving through the apartment.  
Blink, blink. Shuuichi rubbed at his eyes vigorously. Tears trembled at  
the corner of his eyes. Then he shook his head and the tremor coursed  
  
through his entire body, making him look briefly like a dog shaking his  
fur dry. He leapt to his feet. He heard the jingle of keys. Yuki was  
getting ready to go somewhere. "Yuki! Yuki, wait!" He ran for the door.  
  
The front door slammed shut.  
  
"Yuki," Shuuichi whispered, skidding to a stop on stockinged feet. He  
  
stared at the door. "I can't believe it."  
  
With a round-shouldered stance, he headed slowly for the phone. This was  
drastic. This called for reinforcements.  
  
***  
  
Ice chinked softly in the warm golden depths of whiskey as the highball  
glass was tilted slowly between fine-boned hands and the liquid within  
swirled around. The atmosphere of the lounge was dusky, low-key, and  
distant piano music was playing. It was a wistful, jazzy tune.  
  
"The critics' reviews for 'Cool' were excellent," Seguchi Touma was saying  
in soothing tones.  
  
Yuki Eiri did not want to be soothed. He was irritated, rendered restless  
to the pit of his stomach, which even the medicinal balm of the whiskey  
failed to ease. "Even critics lose their edge when someone becomes so  
  
popular they don't dare speak against them in public," he argued. He shook  
his head, letting blond hair fall into his eyes. He tipped the glass to  
his lips again. "At any rate, there were some mixed reviews."  
  
Beside him, Touma chuckled softly.  
  
Eiri stiffened. "What's so funny?"  
  
"It's nothing, Eiri-san," Touma replied. "But I'm wondering, since when do  
you care about your critics' opinions?"  
  
Eiri tossed back the last of his drink in one continuing gulp, then set  
the glass onto the bar harder than was necessary. He swiped his bangs out  
of his eyes in a smooth moment. "Since never," he said curtly, searching  
in his jacket for a cigarette. "What are you doing here, anyhow? Shouldn't  
you be home?" In reaching for a cigarette he glanced at the face of his  
cell-phone. 17 messages, all from a familiar number.  
  
Touma held out a slim silver lighter, flicking it into life. His  
expression was inscrutable. "Waiting for Mika-san." But his pause had been  
too long.  
  
Eiri leaned back and inhaled deeply. Well, it was none of his business,  
even if it was his sister. Maybe that was why he resisted interfering. No  
one else seemed to follow the philosophy to which he held true; unless  
there was a pressing need, there was no reason to violate another's  
privacy.  
  
There was someone who had invaded his, though.  
  
Abruptly he got up, barstool scraping over the floor with a steely rasp.  
  
"Eiri-san?" Touma questioned. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Home," Yuki said, biting off the word. If he was feeling restless, then  
he would turn it on the source of it all. He'd make sure Shindou Shuuchi  
got no rest, either.  
  
"Ah..." Touma laced his hands before him. "See you later, Eiri-san."  
  
"Later," Eiri replied. The farewell was absent; his attention was already  
focused elsewhere.  
  
***  
  
"Ahhhhhh, maaaaan..."  
  
It was dark on the streets and, at a ramen stand halfway between Yuki's  
upscale apartment and Hiro's working-class digs, the noise of Tokyo was  
muted but omnipresent all around them. The shop owner set their orders in  
front of them and turned to tidy his shop.  
  
"Eat up before it gets cold," said Nakano Hiroyuki, ignoring the  
1/4th-scale Shuuichi standing on the stool beside him, who was waving  
  
around his hands with a chopstick in each fist. The grossly superdeformed  
Shuuichi resembled tare-panda a great deal and his huge, glistening eyes  
turned slowly toward Hiro. "Cut that out."  
  
Abruptly a full-sized Shuuichi returned to normal, slumping over the  
counter with a tremendous sigh. "I don't even know what I did this time,"  
he moped, blowing on the hot bowl of ramen about a centimeter from his  
nose. "He just got up and left. After...after..."  
  
"After saying his writing was useless, yes, yes, I got that part," Hiro  
interrupted, before Shuuichi's self-recriminations could get the better of  
him again. Once he really built up steam there was no stopping him; Hiro  
knew that path well. "Have you thought about the fact that it might not be  
your fault?"  
  
"Huh?" Shuuichi sat bolt upright. "Whaddya mean, of course it's my fault!"  
  
"Oh?" Hiro challenged. "Since when does Yuki Eiri-san need a reason to be  
in a terrible mood?"  
  
Shuuichi deflated onto the counter again. "That is true," he sighed.  
Hiro clapped his friend's boneless shoulder. "Give up for once, Shuuichi,"  
he advised. He sighed, too, and stared down at his ramen. "I know you want  
to fix it, but what if it's not your fault?  
  
"Sometimes, it doesn't matter what you say or do. It's something that  
  
person has to work out for himself. And if it's a little rough for a  
while, you'll get over it, and so will he. So...stop worrying and just  
leave it alone this time, you know? It'll run its course and then he'll be  
back to..." Hiro hesitated. "His normal bastard self again."  
  
He turned his head, to see the effect his words had on Shuuichi.  
  
"That's it!" Shuuichi said, straightening. He released his chopsticks,  
which he had been twirling in his ramen until it formed one solid,  
congealed glob. His chopsticks stuck straight up, locked in place.  
Hiro blinked. He hadn't expected his words to have a substantial impact.  
  
"It is?"  
  
"That's it, that's it!"  
  
Shuuichi leapt to his feet, fire and vigor crackling through him, waves of  
determination crashing in the background. Hiro could practically squint  
and see the kanji for "Resolve" standing on Shuuichi's shoulder. Shuuichi  
began to laugh, low and booming, but the sound quickly spiraled into  
supersonics.  
  
"I can't leave anything alone!" Shuuichi exclaimed, his eyes blazing.  
  
"That's the God's own truth," Hiro muttered, poking at his cooling ramen.  
  
"I can't leave it alone!" Shuuichi repeated, lifting a fist that trembled  
with the force of his resolve. "After all, I didn't get to live with Yuki  
through leaving things alone! I didn't get to *stay* with him by leaving  
things alone! And so this, too, will not pass until I've mended my ways  
and made my amends!" His eyes gleamed eerily at Hiro as he turned his  
  
head.  
  
"Yes, yes," Hiro sighed, waving a hand at him. "You didn't listen to a  
word I said, did you?"  
  
"Nope, not at all." Shuuichi posed for a moment like a bobbing-head doll.  
  
Hiro nearly fell off his chair. "Eheh..." He rubbed at the back of his  
head, adjusting his position on the stool. "Well, you didn't have to be so  
blunt." He shook his head. Why *did* Shuuichi come to him for advice?  
  
"Well then, later!" Shuuichi said brightly, and buzzed off so fast his  
legs blurred together.  
  
Hiro lowered his head over the ramen and took several bites in silence and  
contemplation. At least Shuuichi hadn't gotten drunk or decided to run  
away from Eiri's again. As much as the bitter novelist seemed to complain  
about Shuuichi's presence in his life, he sure got up in arms when  
Shuuichi had made the move to leave it.  
  
So he did have faith that things would work out sooner or later. He  
finished his ramen and tossed bills to cover the tab on the counter. Then,  
with hands in his pockets, Hiro set off for home, humming a Bad Luck riff  
under his breath.  
  
***  
  
Shuuichi tiptoed around the kitchen corner with utmost care, watching the  
placement of every toe. He creeeeeaked around the corner, pink bangs and  
huge eyes the sole part of him visible from the living room. He was being  
very quiet. He was Yuki-watching.  
  
Despite his resolve of the night before he'd made no great strides in  
  
making amends. There was a really good reason for this, though. In fact,  
resolve crumbled and scattered to the four corners in the face of coming  
home to half-naked Yuki, who had been waiting in the living room in pyjama  
bottoms, drink in hand, a restless look on his face.  
  
"You made me wait," he'd said, and stood.  
  
In the here and now, Shuuichi dissolved into a puddle of goo at the  
corner. "So...happy..." he squeaked, forgetting to be super-quiet. If he'd  
had work that day, he would have floated in on sparkles and clouds to  
  
prove how disgustingly happy he was.  
  
"But still..." Shuuichi firmed up, and crouched at the corner again,  
peering into the living room. "Still, that wasn't good enough! Apologies  
in bed don't count."  
  
Yuki was seated on the couch with a frown of concentration. He picked up  
his drink and took a sip. He changed the channel from a drama to a quiz  
show.  
  
Shuuichi pulled a notebook from don't-ask-where and jotted that down  
beside *Yuki had toast and fried egg for breakfast* and *Yuki did not have  
beer after breakfast.* He didn't think he'd ever seen Yuki watch so much  
daytime television.  
  
"Shuuichi," Yuki's voice called out sternly.  
  
He started. "Uh, yes?" He peered around the corner again, putting on a  
guileless puppy face.  
  
Yuki just looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Get over here," he  
said, gesturing.  
  
"Y-Yes!" Shuuichi uttered, scrambling to his feet. Like a frantic young  
puppy he dashed over to Yuki's side, making little whimpering noises in  
his haste. He leaned against his legs and laid his head on one of Yuki's  
knees.  
  
"Not like that," Yuki spoke, irritated. His hand hit the black leather  
couch a few times. "Here, right here."  
  
"Ah...oh..." Shuuichi looked up at Yuki, amazed. Was this some sort of  
trick? He made a mental note to add this to the journal as soon as Yuki  
wasn't watching him like a hawk. "Okay!" He scrambled onto the couch  
beside his lover.  
  
Yuki put an arm around him. Then he calmly picked up the remote control,  
and began changing channels again.  
  
This made Shuuichi extremely nervous, and he might have spoken up *then*  
to tender his sincere apologies for...whatever it was he'd done...but for  
the fact that, once Yuki finally made the circuit of all 338 channels that  
his cable service received, he put the remote control down as calmly as  
he'd picked it up. Then he turned to Shuuichi and slid his hands up his  
shirt.  
  
And the door to Yuki's study remained shut.  
  
***  
  
Eiri clicked the lighter on, then off. On, then off. His cigarette had  
been burning steadily for several minutes and the column of ash was  
threatening to collapse onto his bare foot. He flicked it away from him  
and off the balcony and located a new one. He lit that one and ignored it  
as well.  
  
He hadn't written a single sentence in three days.  
  
It was true that he didn't care about the critics' opinion of his writing.  
Nor anyone elses', when it came down to it.  
  
He watched ashes flutter away on the wind.  
  
No, that wasn't true.  
  
*Yuki...Yuki-sensei!*  
  
He had cared very much for someone's opinion, once upon a time. And inside  
him somewhere, there was a need for his work to be seen, for it to be  
  
validated even in the cold form of sales. It wasn't enough, though. He  
wanted satisfaction. The kind of 'validation' he got...he didn't want that  
anymore. It bought him the lifestyle he thought he'd enjoyed, but in the  
end that was revealed to be hollow as a blown eggshell.  
  
What he was writing was trash for the masses. Classified as romance, it  
was a sop thrown to all the teenagers and housewives who wanted to escape  
into the drama he painted so convincingly for them.  
  
He accused Shuuichi of writing childish lyrics -- and, he reflected  
briefly, they *were* -- but what he was doing was equally puerile.  
It was easier to write about the world around him and let none of it touch  
him.  
  
It would be harder, exponentially harder, to let his writing reflect the  
world he saw. An idea was beginning to take shape in Yuki Eiri's head.  
Maybe it was the challenge he needed.  
  
***  
  
"Thanks for all your hard work!"  
  
The chorus of his friends and co-workers dwindled behind him into idle  
chatter, Hiro and Fujisaki discussing some finer point of the song they'd  
been working on, K wrapping up plans for the next month with Sakano.  
Shuuichi dragged himself off, steps heavy. He still didn't know what was  
wrong with Yuki and he was strangely reluctant to go home, even though  
Yuki had been disturbingly nice to him lately.  
  
In terms of Yuki, that meant he hadn't yelled, ordered Shuuichi to get  
out, or made him sleep on the couch. For the most part he had ignored  
  
Shuuichi and watched TV, or ignored Shuuichi and gone out onto the balcony  
to smoke.  
  
Not wanting to press his luck, Shuuichi had left him alone.  
  
"Shuuichi~! Na, Kumagorou, look, it's Shuuichi!"  
  
The vibrant singer of Nittle Grasper bounced to a halt beside him, waving,  
grasping one pink paw and making Kumagorou wave, too. "How's it going,  
Shuuichi?" He was, impressively enough, jogging in place as if Shuuichi  
was just a stop on the wayside.  
  
"Eh, well..." Shuuichi rubbed his nape. He didn't want to *lie* to  
Sakuma-san. "What about you, Sakuma-san?"  
  
"Oh, I have to run!" Ryuuichi said happily. "I'm meeting someone!"  
  
"You are?" Shuuichi blinked. He grinned. "Have fun, okay? You too,  
Kumagorou."  
  
"Oh, we will," Ryuuichi assured him ingenuously. "Kumagorou REALLY likes  
this person."  
  
Shuuichi watched his idol disappear at breakneck speed, then sighed and  
resumed trudging up the corridor toward the elevator. Even Sakuma Ryuuichi  
was getting into relationships. Yet no one seemed to have as much trouble  
as he did...  
  
"Was I born under an unlucky star?" he muttered. He stopped in front of  
the elevator doors.  
  
They slid open, revealing a pair of petite feet in high-heeled, stylish  
red stiletto shoes. Shuuichi looked past slender legs and a trim outfit  
and into Seguchi Mika's critical dark eyes.  
  
"Well?" she prompted, tapping a foot. "You going to get on, or not?"  
  
"Yeah," he mumbled, "Mika-san." He lifted one hand by way of apologetic  
greeting and clambered onto the car.  
  
The elevator began to descend.  
  
Shuuichi stared determinedly at the mirror-polished elevator doors,  
shoulders slumped.  
  
"Well," Mika said after a long pause, "what is it, boy?"  
  
Shuuichi's spine stiffened. He wanted to retort, *It's nothing that  
concerns you,* but Mika was one of the people who knew Yuki best.  
Unwillingly he forced the words out of his mouth. "Yuki...Yuki, he's  
stopped writing."  
  
"What?" Mika swung around to face him in the elevator.  
  
"Scary!" Shuuichi subvocalized, nearly frozen in terror at the look on her  
face. "I...uh...Yuki said he's quitting!"  
  
Mika sighed and looked concerned for a moment, then thoughtful. She folded  
her arms across her ample breasts and gazed into Shuuichi's guileless,  
wide eyes as if she would find her brother there. "And? What exactly did  
he say?" she prompted.  
  
"Y-yes!" Shuuichi squeaked. "He said...he said his writing is useless.  
Trash. So he said he'd stop."  
  
Mika sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose in a gesture eerily  
similar to that one Yuki did just before yelling at Shuuichi for being too  
noisy. "How long has it been?"  
  
"Uh...three days."  
  
The elevator emitted a *ding!* as it reached the ground floor. Mika  
stalked out of the elevator and Shuuichi trailed behind, getting fouled in  
the stream of people who impatiently filed on board.  
  
She came to a stop halfway through the lobby, bringing Shuuichi to a  
screeching halt as well. She pivoted, bringing them nearly nose to nose.  
"Listen," she said, frowning. "Eiri has always been a stubborn man. He's  
the most stubborn person I've ever known...except maybe for one other. But  
the way Eiri's been since he was a child, he would suddenly get stubborn  
like that...then change his mind about it later and pretend nothing had  
ever happened."  
  
"This isn't like that, Mika-san, Yuki is--"  
  
"Sit!" Mika commanded sharply, interrupting him.  
  
Shuuichi obediently sank to his haunches and gazed up at her, fear and  
admiration shimmering in his eyes.  
  
Mika crossed her arms again. "You know, when Eiri was a kid his favorite  
anime was canceled. He decided suddenly that he hated the whole thing, and  
cleared out his posters, his shitajiki, everything that reminded him of  
it."  
  
Shuuichi wriggled and whimpered. Yuki had liked anime? He didn't seem the  
type.  
  
Absently, Mika petted his head. "A week later he'd put everything back up  
same as it ever was. Never explained why, either. He had changed his mind,  
just as suddenly."  
  
Now Shuuichi crossed his arms, standing up with a serious look on his  
  
face. "Yuki's always like that," he agreed. "He takes everything inside of  
himself. He hardly tells me what's going on until he decides to do  
something about it."  
  
"It's the way he's always been," Mika said quietly. She looked at him, and  
her expression was not entirely unsympathetic. "If you can endure it, then  
you're better than any of those one night stands and seasonal flings he's  
been through."  
  
Uncertainly, Shuuichi nodded. "It's hard," he said, looking down. "Being  
with a person who's so one-sided when it comes to things like that, it's  
really hard. But I really love him so it makes up the difference."  
  
A finger tipped his chin up, forcing him to look into Mika's eyes again.  
"And that," she said quietly, "may be why he keeps you around,  
Shindou-kun."  
  
Shuuichi gave her a brilliant smile. "So, so, what should I do?" He  
scrambled after her with puppyish enthusiasm as Mika began walking toward  
the door of NG again.  
  
"Do?" Mika frowned over at him. "You don't need to do anything. He'll get  
over it."  
  
Shuuichi wobbled; nearly fell. "I hope so!" he said forlornly. "Otherwise  
if Yuki's manager is anything like mine, he'll have me assassinated for  
holding up his work!"  
  
***  
  
When Yuki Eiri unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside, it  
was quiet and dark. He frowned at the wide, empty apartment. It was past  
six and Shuuichi had told him in no uncertain terms he would be *home* by  
then.  
  
Not, Eiri said to himself, that peace and quiet was a bad thing. He  
carried his groceries to the kitchen and unloaded them. Still peaceful and  
quiet. Shuuichi had probably gone out some place after work with Hiro.  
It was when he carried his drink into the living room, cigarette in hand  
and searching for his lighter, that he noticed the flames dancing against  
the balcony shades, seeming to lick halfway up the door.  
  
"Shit!"  
  
Eiri set his drink down on top of the television and sprinted for the  
  
balcony, ripping the shades aside. "Shit, shit..." He hadn't thought there  
was anything out there *to* catch fire. Then he located the cause and  
  
narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Shuuichi," he muttered. He ripped the sliding glass door open and it  
  
rattled on its track. In tones that could congeal blood he demanded,  
"Shuuichi, what the hell do you think you're doing out here?"  
  
Seated cross-legged nearly a meter from a half-sized tin can that looked  
as if its previous life had been as a drum of syrup, Shuuichi barely  
glanced up as he ripped another handful of pages out of a book and cast  
them on the fire. It flared upward and Shuuichi rocked back.  
  
"Yaaa, watch out, watch out," he muttered to himself.  
  
"Shuuichi!" Eiri repeated, louder and more testy. He didn't appreciate  
repeating himself.  
  
"Ahh! Yuki!" Shuuichi tilted his head back, waving a handful of torn pages  
at him. "Welcome home!"  
  
"Never mind that, what do you think you're doing?" Eiri demanded. "Besides  
getting ash all over the balcony."  
  
Shuuichi's face acquired a set, stubborn look. "Getting rid of something I  
don't need anymore," he replied.  
  
Eiri spotted his lighter beside Shuuichi's thigh; swooped down to get it.  
"Idiot," he snorted. Then he spotted the small stack of books beside  
Shuuichi's lap and his eyes widened. "You're burning your Harry Potter  
books."  
  
"Yeah, you wanna make something of it?" Shuuichi yelled. "I'm getting rid  
of them! You called them trash, then you...then *you*...about your  
writing..." He hiccuped and gave Eiri a defiant look.  
  
Eiri stared down at him silently, incredulously. The inferences Shuuichi  
drew sometimes...  
  
"You said you're giving it up," Shuuichi said, looking up at him with  
  
tears sparkling at the corners of his defiant eyes. He recited the words  
as if they'd been branded onto his consciousness. "You said the level of  
your writing was useless. Just what you say about my lyrics." He turned  
his head and tore another handful of pages viciously from the book,  
tossing them onto the fire.  
  
Eiri sighed and sank to his knees. He didn't know how he put up with him  
sometimes, he honestly didn't. Reckless, impulsive, quick to jump to  
conclusions, quicker to do something stupid about it... He pulled the book  
out of Shuuichi's hands and tossed the whole thing on the fire. Embers  
whooshed upward.  
  
"I'll buy you a new copy," he said, and it was the closest he would get to  
an apology. Shuuichi went through a lot because of him, but only because  
he took everything so *hard.*  
  
"Wh-what? Why?" Shuuichi asked, head swiveling. His hands twitched as if  
he would pick up the next book. "I...I'm the cause! It's my fault you've  
quit writing!"  
  
Eiri put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him gently but forcefully  
away from the fire. He made a mental note to never leave his lighter in  
accessible locations, ever again. He muttered something so low as to be  
inaudible.  
  
"Wh-what was that?" Shuuichi twitched.  
  
"Writer's block," Eiri mumbled, aggravated that the boy had made him  
repeat it.  
  
"Oh." Shuuichi blinked. Then his eyes widened. "OH!" Happiness filled his  
face like helium inflating a balloon. He bounced to his feet, dragging  
Eiri with him.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," Eiri warned him. He would resume writing  
tomorrow, but he had a lot of rewrites to make. Especially when he had a  
deadline to make.  
  
"It's okay!" Shuuichi beamed up at him. "Why could you just say so? You  
never tell me your real feelings, you could just say so from the start, if  
you'd said that I never would have worried so much and I definitely  
wouldn't have gotten char all over the balcony mmph--"  
  
Yuki shut him up in the most convenient fashion; the only surefire way to  
silence him was mouth-to-mouth.  
  
The door to Yuki's study remained shut that night, too. But not for good.  
  
+cue Glaring Dream+ 


End file.
